team-mate

Prefiguring Peleides to come,
brave Diomedes drove the Trojans back,
in shining gold, a blazing earth-bound sun
against a battlefield in red, and black.
Onlookers are excused if they mistook
this apparition for Apollo's face.
But less than halfway through this epic book,
apotheosis would be out of place.
This mortal hero--not the super sort--
can't hold a candle to the sea nymph's son.
His aristeia's glorious, but short
this nova'd peaked before the siege was done.
Staunch bulwark when Achilles quit the game,
but only specialists still know his name.

Xenia

The golden armor Glaucos gave in trade,
sealed obligations to his dad's friend's son.
Where no constabulary renders aid,
through kinship ties, the Grecian works was run.
Absconding with the Spartan's lovely queen,
the Trojan's faux pas couldn't be ignored.
Such damage to the cuckold's self-esteem,
would doom the whole Aegean world to war.
While Priam got no succor from his liege
to drive marauders from his city gate,
the ad hoc coalition laying siege,
had not yet dreamt that Greeks might form a State.
To Homer, social mores don't exclude
those Asians Greeks had sailed so far to fight.
To stint on hospitality's just rude,
and worthy adversaries do what's right.
Outstanding in the company of kings
proud Diomedes shines in golden bling.

impertinence

Sweet Aphrodite did fair Helen dirt;
her chosen marriage never earned this test.
Before it's over, everyone gets hurt;
unsparing of the meanest, or the best.
Great Hector calls his brother out by name
an emissary mustn't play the hick
no son of Priam can deflect such blame;
disaster follows thinking with one's dick.
To reprimand a goddess took real grit;
the other Greeks were far more circumspect.
But they're not bartered like some gambler's chit
no knowing in whose bed they'll end up next.
The wall that Plato drew between two worlds,

meant nothing to this Mycenaean girl.

on Excellence

the subtlety that Agamemnon lacked,
Odysseus brought to the camp, in spades.
One bore the scepter, but can't stop an ax;
his wife took care that old accounts get paid.
For Trojans, leadership's more unified;
their project isn't subject to debate.
Great Hector isn't blinded by his pride;
Achaeans face his unitary State.
The largest fleet might be the biggest thing
that set Atreides above the rest.
A scant foundation to proclaim him'King',
when all acclaimed Peleides the best.
Before Athenians defined who's"free",
blind Homer saw the faults of monarchy.

Wanax

The maiden glowed to think she'd be the bride
to great Achilles, though he's overseas.
Too soon, she'll learn that Agamemnon lied;
he'd sold his daughter for a friendly breeze.
At Aulis, there's no swag to pay the fleet;
the great adventure's looking like a bust.
To salvage honor through this rank deceit,
his marriage foundered on a dearth of trust.
His Klytemnestra's not one to forget.
A war to get his brother's woman back,
entangled him in his own wife's silk net.
The victor's victim to her gleaming ax.
Since Tantalus, this dynasty's been cursed;
each generation seems to wear it worse.

Marry well

Her sister'd maddened half the men of Greece,
but Klytemnestra's no great prize to wed.
Her husband won at war, but died in peace;
that garland's useless when you've lost your head.
Twin Tyndarids proved equally unchaste;
One ran off with a pretty Asian lad.
To marry for a famously fair face,
to Homer's mind, is bound to turn out bad.
Odysseus brought home the best of wives,
Penelope, who matched his famous wit.
While other paid for glory with their lives,
the man of many ways proved the most fit.
When we recall the Mycenaean world
the tales turn on Tyndareus' girls.

the Agamemnon

Her sentinels report: the watchfires flare;
king Agamemnon's coming home from war!
Aegysthos, who had shirked his duty there,
starts planning to slink out the postern door.
It's Klytemnestra lays the bolder plan:
she'll lay the crimson carpet for his tread,
surpassing Helen to betray her man;
she'll take not just his honor, but his head.
Cassandra's prophecy's a waste of breath;
they put no credence in such future facts.
She's heard the swirling blood; she's smelled the death
She's seen the subtle net, the gleaming ax.
Peleides died young, but won renown;
Odysseus pushed through to win long life.
But Atreus' heir just gets hewn down
mere barnyard livestock to his fancy wife.
The meta-narrative can criticize
heroic figures, painting them life-sized.

Who Governs?

The camp falls silent;Nestor stands to speak
this Argonaut knows much that's gone before.
Experience is precious to these Greeks,
who'd never contemplated ten years' war.
He'd left a son Telemachus' age
to fight for Helen, whom he'd never wooed.
But with Achilles seething in his rage
the enterprise may utterly be screwed.
The ego Agamemnon can't control
precludes commanding loyalty from men
who see which kings could better play the role
without inflaming rancor, yet again.
If leadership's not vested in the wise,
the greatest squabble, for the merest prize.

the good wife

No towel dried her husband from his bath;
fair Klytemnestra swathed him in her net.
The victor's victim to his woman's wrath;
their firstborn's not some kid whom she'd forget.
Aegysthos lurked just off the killing floor;
no royal blood would stain his dainty hand.
To stay at home while others sailed to war,
the playwright marks this one as not a man.
Her cousin labors tireless to reweave
the shroud that she'd unpicked by candlelight.
The faithful wife who's careful to deceive
the villains violating what is right.
The textile arts, deployed for good, or ill,
no less than bronze, can bind a wound...or kill.

Plausible Deniability

Zeus nods his head; Olympus toes the line;
gods won't engage this combat any more.
Hereafter, they'll just meddle with men's minds,
while Greeks and Trojans prosecute their war.
Athena deems this ruling went her way;
the contest will be played out on her field.
She's picked the champions whom she can sway
and doesn't need the fools who doubt She's real.
That leaves the demigod; what man could stand
against Achilles, when he deigns to fight?
Apollo wrought a bow for Paris' hand;
His breath just nudged an arrow in its flight.
Our hands are all gods have, to work their will
but Eros plays us all like puppets, still.

the Fig Leaf (Vayigash)

Exposed, ashamed, the brothers can't deny
they'd sold Yosef, and thought him gone for good.
'Til Joe contrived the diplomatic lie:
they'd merely done what God has meant they should.
The intervening years great changes wrought;
the tactless teen has learned to temper truth.
A handsome lad those Midianites bought
has gained in wisdom what he's lost in youth.
Yehudah, for his part, had grown his soul.
'Though fourth-born, he's now leader of this mob.
Where Reuben's proved unfit to wield control,
the man who can steps forth to do the job.
Pericope of unaccustomed scope
finds reconciliation, past all hope.

Rodef Dam

Orestes saw his duty, and proved true;
Elektra's orphaned by her brother's hand.
Good kids stood up to do what they must do
to purge the regicide taint from the land.
Orestes can't shrug off the family weight
Until Athena will adjudicate.
Orestes was ordained to break the spell;
Athena took him for her very own
Inventing courts to thwart the Hags of Hell.
Exiled from Mycenae, he found a home.
His father's murder cried out from the Earth.
Orestes knew what duty'd bid him do
to prove himself a pious son of worth.
but matricide's a Capital sin, too.
what could Orestes do in such a plight
he's next of kin and must avenge the king
in his dilemma, no decision's right
the best of actions consequences bring

echoes

The watchman on the walls of Elsinore
called forth Horatio, that he might speak.
Athenians had seen this scene before,
'though Shakespeare can't have read it in the Greek.
Oresteia saw his duty, and just struck;
pained vacillation's for a future Dane.
He won't get mired in introspective muck
when father's blood cries from the bathroom drain.
The terrors young Oresteia knew at night
are not so obsolete as they might seem.
For Hamlet, torments don't dissolve in light;
They echo in the Prince of Denmark dreams.
Time-hallowed gem from Greece's Late Bronze Age
the bard of Avon cast back on the stage.

long fuse

The wound in Shelob's abdomen's still sore
where Samwise penetrated her with Sting
She's not allied with Sauron in this war
and nursed no appetite for Elvish rings.
Staunch mountain guardian, beyond all worth
no salary could hire a better ward.
She'd never known a fear in MiddleEarth
until this Hobbit, with his spell-wrapped sword.
Bucolic people, rarely moved to wrath
yet dauntless in defense of kin, and friends
like David facing down that guy from Gath
the Little Folk, on whom the War depends.
No witnesses were there to tell the tale
unless a palantir watched Morgul Vale.

The watchman on the walls of Elsinore
called forth Horatio, that he might speak.
Athenians had seen this scene before,
'though Shakespeare can't have read it in the Greek.
Oresteia saw his duty, and just struck;
pained vacillation's for a future Dane.
He won't get mired in introspective muck
when father's blood cries from the bathroom drain.
The terrors young Oresteia knew at night,
are not so obsolete as they might seem
For Hamlet, torments don't dissolve in light
They echo through the Prince of Denmark dreams.
Time-hallowed gem from Greece's Late Bronze Age
the Renaissance recast on London's stage.

family feud

Dire Klytemnestra's not one to forgive
her husband gallivanting like he's Zeus,
with Trojan women, thinking they might live
beneath her roof! She won't take such abuse.
If Agamemnon ever could forget
Iphigenia, pleading for her life,
he can't escape his own Queen's well-knit net.
Surviving war, he's fodder for his wife.
"Great King" abroad, proved mortal once back home
No loyal minions guard the royal neck.
Pink from his bath, unarmored, and alone,
her axe proved more than towels could deflect.
While better men won fame at distant Troy,
Thyestes was avenged by his glib boy.

What endures

Immortal horses balked at being blamed,
and told Achilles what Apollo'd done.
No Trojan spearman'd stained his boyfriend's name;
against Olympus, no man could have won.
Too young to bid for Helen's fabled charms,
no oaths compelled this pair to sail to war.
Each happy to sleep in the other's arms,
they'd come to settle Sparta's cuckold's score.
The Trojans never really stood a chance,
once Agamemnon'd rallied all of Greece.
Since Paris failed to keep it in his pants,
the House of Priam'd nevermore know peace.
Domestic bliss was never in their fates;
their mingled ashes guard the trade-route straits.

as Below, so Above

Fleet Hermes offered to take Ares' place
snared by Hephaestos in the smith-god's bed.
Imagining the Goddess' embrace
bright ichor floods his visage hectic red.
The cuckold seems less sanguine for his part
deluded he might be the only one
to stoke the fires in Aphrodite's heart.
As if she'd given thought beyond what's fun.
Athena saw no reason here for mirth;
she'd seen such passions playing out before.
On high Olympus, or on lowly Earth
the fleeting love's prelude to grinding war.
No less than his Achaean kings and queens
Homeric gods seem hormone-addled teens.

Pellenor

The breaking dawn lights silver tree on black
that lady Arwen'd wrought in mithril thread.
Lord Aragorn, with legions at his back
rides into battle, 'though his army's dead.
As Theoden gave up his final breath,
king Eomer sweeps up the pennon green.
Rohirrim roared in unison for ''Death!"
Their blood is high, their lances long, and keen.
The final die's cast at the Crack of Doom
by Gollum in his deathgrip on the Ring.
But such maneuvers need the sort of room
that's only purchased with the deaths of kings.
Great warriors and small, show each their worth
in Tolkien's epic tales of MiddleEarth.

fame

Had Menelaus satisfied the wife
who'd chosen him from all the lords of Greece,
his generation might have skipped the strife,
and frittered lives away in boring peace.
Had Paris died, or--better--not been born,
catastrophe need not have smitten Troy.
The Spartan King would not have earned those horns
from some perfidious young sailor boy.
Had Agamemnon been less insecure,
Achilles would have kept his trophy girl.
They'd be forgotten; nothing would endure
to edify the Hellenistic world.
But stars aligned, and Homer found his theme:
the Western Canon's oldest fever-dream.